The Bride of the Lindorm King
by escritoria
Summary: After following the strange advice of a mysterious soothsayer, a queen gives birth to twin princes. But one of them isn't human. Will a strange and misunderstood peasant girl be the one to finally see past his scales and claws to love the monstrous prince? fem!PruCan, based on a Swedish fairy tale
1. Foretelling

**AN: Hello my good people! This fic is a retelling of one of my favorite fairy tales, with a little Prussia thrown in to make it awesome! :D The fairy tale is from Sweden, but unfortunately I couldn't find anywhere to squeeze the guy in there. Believe me, I'm just as upset about it as you are. But the story called for blond-haired, blue-eyed twins, so my choice was OBVIOUS.**

**Oh, and if anyone was curious, a lindorm is a dragon with only two legs and no wings. Legends about them tend to be more common in Northern Europe.**

**Happy reading!**

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><p>The drizzle was icy cold, falling from an unforgiving gray sky. It blew inside the hood of the woman's cloak, kissing her face with frozen lips. She shrank further into the cloak. She was not used to the rain. She lived a rather sheltered life—the walls of a castle did not let in rain. The caress of the misty shower was foreign to her, but she forced herself to keep walking, her eyes peeled for the sign, for the shop she'd ventured forth from the safety of her castle to see.<p>

Before long she caught sight of it. The wooden sign was battered and scarred by the weather, but she could still make out what it was supposed to portray.

An eye. The symbol of a soothsayer.

The crowd jostled against her as she made her way towards the shop. She cringed from the touch of cold, grimy bodies, only to find herself backing into someone else. They were rough and in a hurry—they did not recognize her. It took all of her self-control to keep herself from ordering them all to their knees so she could get by them without all this hassle.

If only she could throw back the hood, they would all fall prostrate. They would kiss her feet and beg her forgiveness for debasing her with their touch.

But she could not. She could not be recognized—that was the reason she had come here like this, shrouded in a heavy, crude wool cloak. It was rough on her skin, alabaster skin used to the caress of silks and fine cottons.

_You will be back in silks soon enough_, she reminded herself. _It is necessary for now. Endure it._

When she opened the door to the soothsayer's shop, a little bell over the door rang out, announcing her presence to a woman sitting on the countertop inside. The entire shop was full of enough filth and clutter and rubble to horrify her. The woman on the counter hardly looked up from a silver goblet she was polishing.

"What do you want?" she asked unkindly.

The woman's jaw dropped, affronted by the woman's rudeness. "Excuse me?"

"I asked what you wanted." The woman looked up at her, eyes flashing with challenge.

"Would you like to rephrase your statement for your queen?" The queen dropped her hood and stared angrily at the woman on the counter. "Well?" she asked aggressively when the woman didn't respond.

The woman's eyes narrowed. "No. You came to the shop for a reason and I am offering you the chance to tell me what it is."

The queen's jaw dropped even further and she spluttered. "Why—you uncouth beggar! How dare you address me—"

"Excuse me." A small, blond-haired man with piercing green eyes and intimidating brows rounded a pile of broken ladder-backed chairs. "Is there a problem?"

The woman on the counter drew her knees up to her chest and glowered at her reflection in the silver goblet. "No, Master Kirkland, sir. This woman wants to see you."

The man turned his deep green gaze on the queen. His eyes widened. "Queen Francine. What an unexpected pleasure." He swept a very satisfactory bow.

Francine turned up her chin proudly at his admiration. Finally, due respect. "I am here for a reading."

"Of course." The soothsayer, Kirkland, gestured to the back of the store. "If you will follow me, Majesty."

The queen glided through the heaps of garbage, trying to maintain her regal air while delicately stepping over shattered glass and scattered bent silverware. The soothsayer had no such qualms—his boots crunched through the exoskeletons of long-dead insects and broken plates and kicked aside dismembered furniture parts as though they were nothing. _He is probably used to such disgraceful rubbish_, Francine sniffed in her mind. _Perhaps I should have sought out another soothsayer._

But every one of her eyes-and-ears whom she'd questioned had told her the same thing. Kirkland was the best soothsayer to be found, the most capable prophet she could talk to. And she _had_ to talk to someone. There had to be _someone_ who could help her.

The soothsayer led her to a room in the back, plainly furnished with a scarred birch table set with two sagging, mismatched chairs. The queen seated herself primly in the one nearest the door, and the soothsayer took the other without a word.

When they were both seated, Kirkland folded his hands and looked her squarely in the eye. "What is it you wish, Majesty?" Despite the respectful title, his words held no awe or submissiveness. All traces of deference in his manner were gone, thinly covered by the veneer of the politeness of his words. The man had the steel of fluid time in his voice and in his eyes, and time held no pity for anyone—glorious ruler or lowest crippled beggar.

Suddenly Francine felt very small, drowning in the molten green steel of his eyes. She cleared her throat, trying to stiffen under his gaze instead of shrink. "I…" Her voice cracked and she cleared her throat, reddening. "A child. Children. You see, I am barren, and I am…not as young as I used to be." She could not make herself say "growing old."

"I guessed as much." The soothsayer grinned an infuriating crooked grin. "Let me see, now…" He cocked his head, as though listening to voices she could not hear. Suddenly his eyes glazed over and his head rolled back on his shoulders. His expression was one of pure rapture.

Francine shifted nervously in her chair, unnerved by the expression. Then his face turned towards her and she had to resist the urge to run from the empty ecstasy on his face. Despite the euphoria on his face, his words were cold and dispassionate, and his eyes could have frozen the heart of winter.

All at once his face slackened and he slumped to the table. Francine was now terrified, but the vicelike grip of fear on her heart eased when he stirred after just a moment and began to sit up.

"Excuse me, Majesty… The trance is difficult to recover from sometimes." The soothsayer scrubbed a hand across his face.

The queen was unsure of how to respond. Had she been anyone else but a monarch, she would have realized that she should have offered her help in any way she could—but she _was_ a queen, after all.

"Did you…do you know what I must do?" Francine asked tentatively.

"Yes. When you return to the palace, you must eat two raw onions. If you do this, you will give birth to healthy, beautiful, strong twin boys."

Babies! And boys, none the less! Twin boys! The queen shot to her feet, smiling widely. Even the bizarre advice couldn't discourage her from her joy.

"Thank you, thank you!" The queen shook Kirkland's hand vigorously. "A million times thank you!"

"But Majesty—" he began to say, but she had already vanished out the door. "Majesty! There's more to the prophecy!"

But she was beyond hearing, blinded by her joy. She returned home and ordered the onions brought to her, and she ate them. The first she ate whole, not even pausing to strip the skins from the bulb before starting to consume it. But after the last onionskins slithered down her throat, dry and painfully scratchy inside her, she forced herself to pause and be patient long enough to peel the second onion.

That one she ate as well, and never doubted for a second the words of the soothsayer. But she had not learned all that the prophecy had to tell, and that would be more dangerous than she knew.

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><p><strong>AN: Dun dun dun...<strong>

**I'm going to try and update every three days or so, and I promise it only gets better! Please leave me reviews, I thrive on them. If you value my sanity as an author, REVIEW. O.O**


	2. Abomination

Francine clenched her midwife's hand desperately, trying to restrain her screams. But even though the pain of labor was almost unbearable, she was smiling at the same time as she gasped and sweated. The soothsayer's words had come true, just like he'd said. Now all that was left was for her beloved sons to be born.

"Augh!" Pain spiked through her all at once, but then the tension on her womb lessened tremendously. One of her sons was born.

The midwife's hand in hers slackened. A shriek echoed through the air as the woman fainted dead away.

What could be wrong? Anxiously the queen sat up.

And she screamed too. Because the thing there, the thing she'd just given birth to, was not the beautiful boy she'd been promised. It was a _dragon_.

Strength flooded her limbs from nowhere and she seized the repulsive thing. It was scaly and cold and small—horrid. She hurled the terrible thing from her bed and out the window. Its terrible, almost childlike wails faded to silence as it sailed away, over the castle wall and into the twisted forest beyond.

The manic energy faded as quickly as it had come. Alone this time, as her midwife was still unconscious, the queen labored to give birth again.

When she felt the pressure in her womb vanish once more she was almost afraid to look. But this time it was human.

Exquisite relief flooded her as she took the sobbing infant into her arms. He was so beautiful, just as the soothsayer had said. A beautiful, blissfully human baby boy.

The queen gave not another thought to her other son, the lindorm she'd thrown away. It was an abomination, not a child. A monster. She could not love a monster, nor would she. A lindorm prince? Really, who had ever heard of such a thing?

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><p><strong>AN: Short chapter is short. I'm experimenting on length with this fic, so it's unlikely any chapter will be longer than one time-skip section thingy.<strong>

**Hope you enjoyed anyway! Reviews? Please?**


	3. Reunion

**AN: Hey everyone! I wanted to say a big thank you for all the reviews-I really wasn't expecting to get as many as I did for the lame first chapters! The story really picks up after this chapter, and then things get very...well, Prussia. xD Prussia aside, even though I don't respond to reviews, I don't want you guys to think I don't appreciate you. I really do! ^^ Please keep the reviews coming so I can see what you guys think of my humble fic.**

**Oh and this chapter requires a translation:**

**_Sveriges och Götes Konung = _King of Sweden, of the Goths and of the Wends. Title used by Swedish king until 1560**

**Credit for the translation goes to Wikipedia :D I love that site. The day it went down was horrid, because of course THAT had to be the day I thought of a bajillion things to search. -endrant-**

**Okay, enjoy!**

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><p>Alfred snapped the reins to make his horse go faster. Already its body was a warm, straining chestnut blur beneath him. The forest streaked by in a green-brown smear, and the wind was cold as it whipped through his dirty blond hair and made his ocean-blue eyes water.<p>

This was what Alfred loved. The hot gush of adrenaline, when you could feel your blood burning through your veins and for a lingering, triumphant moment, you were truly, gloriously alive.

He needed that today. Today he was riding to escape the disappointment of yet another prospective wife that fell through.

_What could be the problem?_ he wondered. _It certainly could not be me. I am a handsome, valiant, heroic prince! What woman would not give a limb for a chance to marry me?_

Apparently…many.

Alfred forced himself to quit goading the horse when he realized the poor animal was dripping lather and foaming slightly at the mouth. "Sorry about that," he murmured to it, patting its muscular, sweat-soaked neck. He slowed the horse to a walk and dismounted to let it rest.

It took him a moment to realize that he was beyond the castle grounds, past anywhere he'd ever ridden before. Here the forest was thicker, untouched by the hands of lumberjacks and untamed by hunters or gardeners. The trees grew gnarled and stout, wrinkled and bent like old men under the weight of years and hardship.

The sight made Alfred nervous. He—not _retreated_, _Sveriges och Götes Konung _Alfred never _retreated_—_withdrew_ to put his horse in between him and the forbidding forest.

_Brother?_

Alfred knuckled his ear. He could've sworn someone had said something…but at the same time, he was sure he hadn't heard anything. Someone had spoken, but yet he'd heard nothing.

_Brother_. This time the sound he couldn't hear was surer, but with more surprise.

"Hello?" he called.

_Hello_.

He jumped. He hadn't actually expected a response. But now he understood—the strange not-sound was coming from his mind. Some outside force was impressing words into his brain. The feeling of an alien consciousness brushing against his own, exerting subtle pressure on a hidden realm inside him that had only ever known solitude, made him shudder.

"What is going on? Who is addressing me?" he asked, searching around for a source of the strange mind-voice.

_My name is Matthew_. Now that Alfred was getting more used to the mind-voice, he could detect a tinge of shyness in its tone. _Yours is Alfred, right?_

"Yes, that is me. _Sveriges och Götes Konung _Alfred," he said proudly.

_King already? I was not aware. Congratulations_.

"Oh, well…" Alfred shifted uncomfortably. "I am not exactly crowned, yet. Mother wants me to wed first and…that is not coming along so well." Then a strange thought crossed his mind. "How did you know my name? And that I am a prince?" His former mistrust flooded back. "And I still do not know who you are! Show yourself!" His hands instinctively found the hilt of the sword he carried at his hip.

_No need for swords,_ Matthew said. _I will show myself if that is what you wish… But you may not wish it._

"Let me see your face!" Alfred spun in a circle, but he still saw no one.

_If you insist…_

The forest rustled, a soft growling in the throat of the deep. Fallen branches cracked. An amber gleam appeared between the leaves.

Eyes, Alfred realized with a wash of dread. Massive amber eyes.

The face of a nightmarish creature advanced into the open. First came a scaly green snout set with enough dagger-like teeth to make Alfred take a step back. The gleaming amber eyes followed, set far apart, on either side of a head that resembled a mixture of a snake and a greyhound. Then came a long length of sinuous neck covered in dull green scales, with razor-sharp spires mounted along the spine starting at the base of the neck. The neck flowed into a long snakelike body, so it was hard to tell where the creature's neck ended and where its body began. The only distinguishing feature of its seamless long form were a pair of stocky, muscular legs that resembled those of an Egyptian crocodile Alfred had once seen in the menagerie of the king of France, each of their four toes tipped with a huge curved ivory claw.

Alfred took a step back. Two. He fell on his bottom and scuttled backwards, away from the beast advancing on him from the depths of the forest. Had he been on a quest to vanquish one, Alfred would not have been so shocked—but to encounter a lindorm out of the blue, a few scant miles away from what he had considered the impenetrable safety of his castle…

A sigh emanated through his mind. _Yes, I know_.

"A lindorm!" Alfred struggled to his feet and had his sword out in a flash.

_I said, no need for swords_. The lindorm blinked at Alfred. _I have many skins, and it would take a mighty blow indeed to rend them all._

Alfred suddenly felt very silly. The monster didn't look aggressive, sharp teeth and massive claws aside. In fact the thing practically…cowered. Despite its brave words, the thing seemed genuinely frightened of him. "What…what do you want? Why did you speak to me?"

_I recognized you. And once I had I could not help myself. I had to introduce myself. _Matthew ducked his head as if shy. It looked strange for such a terrible monster to seem submissive. _And to answer your other questions, I know of you and that you are a prince…because you are my brother._ Amber eyes met ocean blue.

"Brother? Do not spout such nonsense," scoffed Alfred. How could the monster even make such claims? It was beyond ridiculous.

_It sounds outlandish, I know. But I _am_ your brother_, the lindorm…Matthew…said. _And there is something else… Another reason I had for revealing myself to you._

"What other ridiculous claims do you have?" Alfred said with a roll of his eyes. But then something caught his eye. The sinuous shape of the lindorm… The single long thick cord of muscle broken only by two equally muscular legs… It was so _familiar_ somehow. It stirred memories beyond remembering, in a part of him where he knew that he must eat and drink to survive, where he knew the drive for companionship and competitiveness with other men for the right to dominate. He could imagine perfectly how it felt to nestle together with the foreign body of a dragon.

In the nest of a mother's womb, perhaps?

While Alfred was still trying to digest the new familiarity he felt with the lindorm, Matthew spoke again. _You are looking for a wife, are you not?_

"Yes," Alfred responded, not even bothering to ask how Matthew knew what he knew. "I have been looking everywhere. I've met princesses from Castile and Aragon, Britain, France, the Netherlands, and all sorts of noblewomen. But none of them…fit. It never worked out."

_I am sorry._ The lindorm's hissing mind-voice sounded remorseful. _It is my fault. For existing like this… You cannot find a wife, brother, until I have one first._

Shock bloomed through Alfred's mind. "A…a wife? You?" He was aghast, not even realizing that he believed the lindorm despite every logical argument that he should not. "How can you know this?"

_Our mother received a prediction from a soothsayer that foretold our birth. She had to eat onions, if I am not mistaken, to conceive us._ Shockwaves radiated through Alfred's chest. This was proof—he _had_ to be his brother. No one knew about their mother's visit to the soothsayer. It was her most closely guarded secret. Except for the secret that her other son was a lindorm, it seemed. _The same soothsayer told me this._

The shock gave way to despair. He would never wed until this…this _monster_ had a bride? Any sane woman would hang herself before marry this scaly, toothy, clawed _thing_. But he had to find _someone_, sane or otherwise. "I will find you one. Whatever I have to pay."

_You cannot buy it. I must have a wife who truly loves me, a willing bride._ Matthew hung his head. _I am sorry, Brother._

For a second, Alfred had a vision of himself hacking away at scales and bones and flesh until the beast lay broken and dead before him, spilling its toxic life-blood into the earth along with the curse that kept him from finding a bride.

_You cannot kill me either, _Matthew added, as though reading his mind. _If I die, you shall die as the bachelor you are now._

A wife for a monster. They had to find a wife for a monster.

God help her, whoever she was. Wife to a monster.

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><p><strong>AN: I apologize for any OOCness... But there's only so much Alfred-izing you can do when the man has to talk formally!<strong>

**Please remember to review and if you can, check out my other fics! Thanks so much for reading!**


	4. Remember

**AN: Fem!France. How loathsome. I enjoy France as a man, but for some reason I have no problem with fem!Prussia... I guess I never read a good fem!France fic. Usually it's fanfictions that make me realize I like things, like FrUK (which I HATED) and Spamano (which I was not a fan of either just because I hated Romano).**

**This chapter was fun to write anyway, though, because I enjoy amnesia. Especially the self-induced kind :D**

**Remember to keep up the reviews everyone, and thanks so much for them! ^^**

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><p>"Mother?"<p>

Francine looked up from the book she was curled up with to see her son, her wonderful son Alfred at the door. How brave and handsome he was, a model prince. Now he only needed a wife, and he would be perfect.

"Come in, darling," she said warmly, rising to greet him. Alfred stepped inside, running a hand nervously through his blond hair. "What is the matter?"

"Well…" He sorted through his words. "Mother, am I truly your only son?"

Her blood chilled. That tugged at…_something_…deep inside her mind. _Was_ he her only son? "Of course, darling. You have not met any other siblings, have you?" She chuckled. "If you had siblings, you would have met them by now."

Alfred's expression was suspicious. "I went riding today, near the forest."

Her brow creased with concern. "Did you? Alfred, dear, you know Mother does not like it when you take risks like that. You could fall and get a scar and ruin your face, dearest."

Alfred had tired of subtlety. He was not good at beating around the bush. "I met a lindorm on my ride, Mother."

Something burst forth from deep inside Francine, a memory she had suppressed because she had wanted to forget. Her knees buckled. Was it not for Alfred's strong arms and quick reaction, she would have fallen face-down on the floor.

"Mother?" His worried face swam up to her from the hazy gray that filled her sight.

"Monster," she garbled, delirious from her near faint. "Couldn't be my son. No. Not mine. Not a prince. Monster, had to be disposed of."

Alfred's expression grew shocked, then closed off with mistrust and hurt. "He _is_ my brother! My brother! Why did you never tell me?"

"Monster," she wept, clinging to his shirt. "No son of mine! No! Never!"

It had been gradual, altering the memory. Lying to herself. Now she had no recollection of actually giving birth to the monster—all she remembered was throwing it, repulsed, from her bed. But Alfred's words were dragging them to the surface, all the memories she had locked away. Giving birth. Seeing it there, wet and coughing and mewling just like an infant, but more horrible than any human child could ever be. Throwing it, hurling it over the parapets with a strength she had never had before or since. The accusation in its amber eyes, as if even as a baby it understood that what she was doing was a crime abhorrent to all.

"Mother, he is your son," Alfred said gently, rocking her back and forth. "He is alive, and his name is Matthew."

"No!" she howled, thrashing in his grip. "Monster! Not my son!"

"Listen to me!" Alfred snatched her wrists and made her look him in the eyes, enunciating each syllable carefully. "He is a lindorm, and he is your son, and he needs to be wed before I can marry."

"What?" she said faintly.

"The soothsayer told him. He needs to have the love of a willing bride, or I will never marry."

Francine's heart iced over with dread. "No…" Hot needles pricked behind her eyes. "Fortune has abandoned us," she whispered. "How can this be?"

Alfred brushed back her hair comfortingly. "Do not lose hope. I am sure we can come up with some sort of arrangement…"

She shook her head mournfully. "He's a lindorm, Alfred. A dragon! How can we ever find a wife for a dragon?"

"We will find something," Alfred said firmly. Her sweet, strong Alfred. He never gave up. "We must."

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><p><strong>AN: I think France would be a VERY doting mother. Like, the suffocating kind. I'd prefer him as a boyfriend! :D<strong>

**Reviews per favore!**


	5. Brother

**AN: Half of the reason I chose to use Alfred and Matthew for the twins in this fic was because I absolutely adore their brotherly relationship, and I wanted to incorporate it into the story. The actual fairy tale doesn't mention the brother's relationship much, but I wanted to bring it in here. I like exploring relationships that aren't amorous, like friendly or brotherly relationships. Like in First Kiss Wins (my currently on-hiatus Prucan/Franada fic) I picked those pairings mostly to mess around with Prussia and France's friendly relationship.**

**Jeez, I'm long-winded. These Author's Notes are going to be longer than the actual fic xD**

**Happy reading!**

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><p>No one wanted to wed a monster.<p>

_Curse that soothsayer! _Alfred growled to himself. _Curse him and his loathsome reliability!_

For months now, the palace had been in an uproar, ever since Matthew had been moved into a guest suite downstairs. Everything female that could be found was presented to him, and they all ran away screaming. Matthew never did anything to the girls, never even tried to nibble at them, and yet they always ran at the sight of his scales and claws and teeth and those amber eyes that could see deeper than your soul. Some ran before he even got to see their faces—his mind-voice was unnerving enough in itself.

Even though Alfred was upset at their lack of progress for his own sake, he was also sympathetic towards his twin. It was Matthew who had to deal with each and every rejection as a strong but careless blow. Perhaps that was the worst part at all—none of the girls gave a care for Matthew's hurt. Matthew tried to pretend that he didn't accumulate scars on his heart for each and every girl that ran screaming, but Alfred knew. However cold-blooded he was, he had a beating heart, and any heart that lived was subject to pain.

Alfred got up from his desk, where he had been sorting through lists of girls Matthew had seen and not seen. The poor lindorm was locked up in his rooms, as always, with a heavy guard despite Alfred's reassurances that Matthew would not hurt anyone. Matthew had sworn up and down not to mutilate any of the servants, and he'd said that he'd never even tasted human flesh before much less craved it, but no one seemed to take the word of a lindorm seriously but Alfred.

In fact, he'd heard from the guards that the only time Matthew seemed anything other than utterly miserable was when Alfred visited. So he made it a priority to spend some time with his scaly brother each day, to help alleviate his suffering.

"Matthew?" Alfred asked, opening the door slightly.

_Alfred, is it you?_ asked Matthew's now-familiar mind-voice hopefully.

"Yes, it is." The younger twin stepped into the room. It was ornately furnished, as were all the rooms of the palace, but most of the furniture was shoved to the very edges of the room to make space for Matthew's bulk. Although he wasn't massive—as dragons went, at least—he still took up more space than any man, and he needed all the room they could make for him.

Matthew was curled up on the huge four-poster bed, but he hurriedly uncoiled and made his way over to Alfred with his half-slithering, half-walking movement. _You do not know how good it does my eyes to see you, Brother._

"I can imagine. How are you holding up?" Alfred asked, scratching the scales between Matthew's eyes fondly.

Matthew's shoulders rolled in an imitation of a shrug. _As well as can be expected, I suppose. And yourself? How goes the search?_

Alfred shrugged too. "We have almost exhausted all the females nearby. Soon we will have to search for them in other towns as well."

The lindorm dropped his eyes. _Again, I must apologize… If I had never been born, none of this would have happened… You could be happily married by now if I were not alive._

"Do not say things like that," Alfred admonished, grabbing a spine at the base of Matthew's skull and swinging his head around with it playfully. "The way I see it is, how many men can claim to have a dragon as a brother? I would prefer a formidable brother like you to a swooning wife."

Matthew smiled gratefully. _Thank you, Brother. For everything… You are the only person here who does not hate me. Even Mother… Well, perhaps especially Mother. They all look at me like I will eat them at the slightest provocation._

"I know, Brother." Alfred said, swinging his spine a little more. "But do not let it make you upset! If it becomes too much to take you can just eat them after all and the problem will be solved."

Mind-laughter was very strange—it reverberated back and forth between their minds like an echo, a bubble popping in one of their brains and growing anew in the other. But it was gratifying. Alfred had not heard Matthew laugh in weeks.

_If only it were that easy, Brother. If only._

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><p><strong>AN: Please review! ^^ I know the short chapters might be a little discouraging, but I'm experimenting! Trust me, the chapters get longer towards the end. The POV just jumps a lot for now.<strong>


	6. Prospect

After his visit with Matthew, Alfred returned to his office to sort through more lists.

"Your Grace?" asked a servant meekly at his elbow. "I have a report for you, sire. A promising young lady recommended by several of her neighbors."

"Recommended?" Alfred laughed, taking the parchment from the liveried servant and skimming his eyes over it. "Do they hope she shall be eaten?"

"Perhaps so," the servant replied truthfully. "I have heard of her, sire. They say she has eyes like the Devil himself, redder than blood, and even though she is young she has pure white hair. From what I have heard, she was born with it. I have heard whispers that she is the daughter of the Devil, and she practices witchcraft and conjures her father's tortured spirit subjects at night just to hear them scream. She loves them, screams. Bottles them and bathes in them, she does. They say she has a body to dry any man's tongue, but no man would dream of touching her for fear of her magic and that her father would grow angry at them."

"Really now." Alfred rolled his eyes. Bunch of superstitious ninnies, all of them. Really, the Devil's daughter? Everyone knew that the Devil thought himself above cavorting with human women. "She sounds…eccentric. And perhaps desperate enough. Send for her at once, understand?"

"Yes, sire." The man bowed out of the room as Alfred looked down at the parchment with the woman's information on it.

_Gillian Beilshmidt._ If she was truly demon spawn as people said, she could not object to marrying a dragon. Or perhaps if she was not, she would be desperate enough to accept a lover in any form, even a cold, scaly one with a heart more human than anyone bothered to realize. He could always hope.

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><p><strong>AN: Yeah. I know. It's short. I'm going to update again today to make up for that.<strong>

**Was I the only one who found Alfred's idea of what was superstitious about Prussia being the devil's daughter funny? Cuz it might just be because I'm a dork like that...**

**Until like an hour from now! Review!**


	7. Summoning

**AN: This is the chapter where Prussia is introduced! At first I was severely opposed to fem!Prussia (I mean, it's PRUSSIA! He's so manly!), but now I like her. It's actually a lot more IC than you'd expect!**

**Happy reading! Sorry it took me so long to get Gillian in here... *sweatdrop***

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><p>It was hot, so Gillian didn't bother pulling the hood of her cloak up, as her father always asked her to do. He told her it was to protect her fair skin, which burned easily in the sun, but she knew why he told her to always wear her hood up. It was because she was a freak. White hair and red eyes on an otherwise lusciously gorgeous girl was enough to send most people running. Running from their produce stand, fearing she had infected the vegetables with her demonic aura. Running from any marriage offer. Running from even standing in her presence. Demon. Monster. Freak. Beast. She'd heard them all before.<p>

No matter how many times she heard them, no matter how many times she told herself they didn't bother her, each word was a barb. She hated them all. All the men who dared to stare down her body with desire and then run when she smiled at them, hoping for the touch of a lover who would not be afraid of her. All the women who snickered and whispered behind her back, always just loud enough for her to hear. The neighbors who warded their doors with crucifixes to repel her from entering. The father who could not look her in the eyes, and went out of his way to make sure no one else did, either. The mother who had died giving birth to her, leaving her alone, devoid of the one person who might actually love her. That death had fueled the whispers that she was demon spawn more than anything else.

Gillian could not remember a time when she had not been full to the brim with hate and despair. The world hated her, and she hated the world right back. It had never given her any reason not to hate it.

But if she acted on that hatred, even snapped a cross word at anyone, it would confirm to everyone that she was what they were already convinced she was. So she kept her mouth shut and her swallowed back her acid words and tried to pretend that there was nothing wrong, even when all she wanted to do was cry and scream until somebody, _anybody_, noticed her for what she had to say, not for what they thought she was.

"Gillian Beilshmidt?" asked a timid, male voice at her elbow.

She turned, and automatically breathed deep so that her breasts swelled in the swooping neckline of her dress. That was one of her coping methods. Even though she hated it when they ran, she liked men to look at her and see something to be desired, not feared. That might have made matters worse—people said she was a seductress, that she wore glamours that made her so irresistible—but it gave Gillian a vicious sort of satisfaction to see the husbands of the women who said such things looking at her with almost unbearable wanting. Besides, even if she wore dresses that covered her from chin to toe, it would do little to keep men's eyes off of her. The sweep of her curves was so dramatic that even conservative dresses weren't enough to hide the shape of her enough to make it seem anything less than mouthwatering. At least in the kind of dresses she wore, molded to her form and scooped low in the front, men knew she was willing.

But somewhere inside, she knew that it wasn't enough. She'd been touched, held, kissed, even been bedded more times than she could count, but she had never been loved. Even she knew that giving up her body so willingly, to any man who was willing to lavish it for a night, wasn't going to win her love. And yet she continued to do it. Any man. Every man. Just to feel wanted. Just to take her hatred and pain away for another night. Just for the pleasure, which nothing else could give her. Just holding out hope that for once, her father would notice that she didn't come home at night and ask where she'd been. Just taking another feeble shot at finding love, a shot that would never hit its target. Sleeping with men meant a lot of things to her, or at least promised to. Every time she followed a man home, she thought that it would finally make her feel something once she had her clothes back on and left the bedroom on silent feet. But it never did.

Unexpectedly, the man was not wearing the rough clothes of your everyday villager. He was bedecked in the fine wool livery of a palace servant. Still, even palace men were not immune to her. His eyes popped so wide Gillian thought they might just fall down her dress.

"I am she," she prompted when the man continued to gape instead of speaking.

"Oh!" His gaze snapped back up to her face. It wasn't long before his eyes wandered again, though. "Um… Prince Alfred… He extends an invitation to… Present you to his brother…"

"The lindorm prince?" Gillian chuckled in a sultry way. She spied easy prey, and just when she was feeling most depressed. What excellent timing the man had. He wasn't particularly handsome, but he had nice eyes, and she was curious to see if palace men knew what they were about.

Slowly, she stroked a finger down the fine wool of his livery. It was softer than she could have imagined fabric could be. "Sounds interesting. How about you tell me more? I know a fine inn we could retire to."

The man's eyes somehow grew wider at her mention of an inn. "I really must… Return to the palace…" She could see his resolve weakening by the second.

"We'll not be long," she urged, giving him a crooked smile. "Please?"

He followed her to the inn. Gillian learned that palace men were no more entertaining than the kind she had at home, and that she was to report to the palace to see the lindorm prince tomorrow.

By the time Gillian emerged back into the street, the sun was falling. Her favorite time of day. By nights she frequented the town's tavern, hoping to meet an eager fellow there.

This time, she did. He was a small man with tousled blond hair and piercing green eyes, rather handsome really despite his age. Much more so than the servant she'd reduced to a blathering idiot with kisses. The man was half-drunk after only a few beers, and the alcohol had made him more open to share both his bed and his words with her. His name was Kirkland, and he was a soothsayer.

"A soothsayer," Gillian purred between kisses. "I have never met a real soothsayer before. Tell me, have you ever foretold anything interesting? Anything scandalous, or heroic?"

"Many times," he said, kissing his way up her arm. Delicious tingles raced through her, but as always, they seemed hollow. She knew he did not touch her in love, just the same as everyone else.

"Really? Which foretelling was your favorite?"

"I foretold the birth of the lindorm prince, as a matter of fact," Kirkland said smugly. His hands touched her, and she did not flinch. She was used to being touched where most women had never been touched but by their husbands, and it was little shock anymore.

"What a strange coincidence! I am to see him tomorrow."

The soothsayer's hands on her abruptly froze. "You are to see Matthew tomorrow?"

"If Matthew is the lindorm prince, then yes." Gillian kissed the soothsayer in an attempt to revive his still hands, but he remained unresponsive even under the ardent pressure of her lips. "What is it?"

"You are not…afraid?" The soothsayer pulled back. "You do not fear the lindorm?"

Gillian shrugged. "Not particularly. He does not seem like an evil monster. He has not hurt anyone so far, has he?"

"No, but no one ever seems to remember that." Kirkland regarded her curiously. He seemed to have sobered up quickly. "Gillian, would you marry him? If you had the chance."

Marry him. Marry _anyone_. It was her dream come true. Even a monster, even a beast. She'd had people call her both of those things, and she knew better than anyone how untrue those accusations could be. In marriage, there had to be love, did there not? "If he would have me," she said quietly. "If he could love me."

Kirkland quickly laced up his mostly-undone shirt, and re-donned his discarded coat.

"What are you doing?" Gillian protested, affronted. No man had ever left her in bed! Ever!

"I could never sleep with the woman who will be Matthew's bride," the soothsayer said with a smile. "Now let me tell you a little story, Gillian."

It was definitely a first. She had never gone halfway with a man before, and she had certainly never spent a good two hours sitting on the same man's bed, listening to what sounded like a fairy tale, but one that had taken place just a scant league from her own home. And hearing a secret that could mean a future that she'd never dreamed of was within her grasp.

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><p><strong>AN: *gags* Prussia x England. Horrible pairing. But I guess no pairing's too deplorable for a lightskirt like Prussia...<strong>

**Oh jeez. I just used the word lightskirt. I need to stop reading old-timey books.**

**Please review even though the author's a nerd!**


	8. Game

**AN: Matthew is SO. ADORABLE. In this chapter. Just saying. So if you like Canada, you'll be very happy :3 Oh and just for future reference, all the weirdness of this chapter actually happens in the fairy tale (mostly. Prussia just...Prussia-fied it). So I am not responsible for this and ensuing chaos.**

**Oh and happy early Easter, everyone! ^^**

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><p>"Um…" Prince Alfred pointedly didn't stare at Gillian. She tried not to blush. It was strange—she felt no shame in wearing as little as possible, but now…<p>

Just a few minutes ago, she had arrived at the palace. It was gorgeous. Everything was gilt and embroidered and hung heavily with silks and lace, wealth she had never dreamed of as the ostracized daughter of a poor farmer. She truly was the lowest of the low, and she was appearing before the highest of the high.

In every dress she owned.

Gillian had very fair skin, and when she blushed, she flamed, so she had learned to stop herself from blushing. It took every ounce of her skill to keep the heat from her face right now. She wore so many layers that she was practically ballooning out. When held at her sides, her arms were at least a foot away from her body. Every cloak, every dress, every shift—every stitch that she owned—she wore them all. She looked fatter than a turkey before the prince, and it was humiliating.

"A-allow me to show you to Matthew's rooms," Alfred said, recovering his composure quickly. "It is a pleasure to have you here."

Of all the glorious things in the palace, Alfred was the most glorious. He had dark gold hair, unkempt as if he had not found time to brush it in a while. Gillian was tall for a woman, but he stood a good seven or eight centimeters taller than she did, and he was built like a soldier, with a muscular body and powerful shoulders. Most glorious of all were his deep sapphire eyes, the trademark of his line. She could have drowned in them and been very happy indeed.

But that was not the point of her visit. She was here to meet the lindorm prince, and if the seer was to be believed—which Gillian thought he was—then no other man would ever satisfy her like the lindorm, not even his breathtakingly handsome twin. No one else could understand her and love her like the lindorm could.

If she could ignore the claws and teeth and tail, and everything else in between, that is.

Her nervousness mounted as Alfred led her through the palace. It was not a long walk, not near long enough for Gillian to steel her nerves as she'd hoped to.

Alfred swung the door open and bowed. "If at any time you would like to leave, simply tell Matthew. He will not keep you."

"Thank you," she managed through a throat suddenly gone dry. She prided herself on her courage, but it had all crumbled to dust now. She had to chant the soothsayer's promises like a mantra to keep her feet moving forward.

The rooms were just as fine as anything she had seen within the palace, and yet it had an air of loneliness that no other area she'd passed through had. Even though the rest of the furniture in the palace had been spotless, the lindorm's room stirred with dust as she stepped inside. Even the maids avoided coming here, it seemed. The odd scent of a dead thing lurked inside, probably from the lindorm's meals—none made it to the stage of decay, but a dead animal never inhabited a place without leaving a trace.

The door shut behind her, and she gulped in spite of herself. Her mantra picked up in speed, and she made herself speak. "Excuse me?" she called. "Is anyone here?"

_Hello._ A strange voice reached her somewhere in the recesses of her mind, another consciousness molding itself to hers, pressing itself like a gentle kiss to her brain just long enough to leave an imprint—the words she was hearing. It was a very intimate feeling, and it made her skin crawl at the same time. _Welcome. What is your name?_

"Gillian Beilshmidt. Your Grace." The last was an afterthought—everyone called the palace's newest resident "the lindorm prince," but few thought of him as such. He was more like a parasite in the eyes of the people. A huge, scaly poison slowly infecting the realm.

_No need for formality._ The lindorm was still nowhere to be seen. Hiding from her? _You call me Matthew, and I shall call you Gillian. Does that sound fair?_

"It does, Matthew."

_Very good._ He sounded amused, and a little sheepish. _How very royal I sounded just now. I am picking up on the ways of a prince rather quickly here._

Gillian had to laugh. He sounded embarrassed of his words. "You _are_ a prince. You should sound your station."

"_Prince" implies that I have a chance of acceding to a throne,_ Matthew said glumly. _Which I do not. You would sooner become Queen of Sweden than I._

"Of course I would. You are a male," Gillian snickered.

For a moment she felt a wave of surprise from Matthew. She supposed she was the first to have joked with him. Then he said slowly, _Can I come out? You will not run, will you? _He sounded so wistful. Had everyone run? He seemed like such a kind monster. And afraid of rejection, from what she'd heard so far. How could anyone have such a stony heart, to run screaming from such a tender soul?

"No, I promise." Gillian held her breath.

A large, snakelike head with a lupine snout emerged from the bedroom. Then came a long, sinewy neck, with two massive, powerful clawed legs and a whipcord tail. The lindorm's body was paneled in dully shining green scales, and he had wide, intelligent amber eyes. He towered over her, even though her height was considerable, and he had daggerlike teeth and claws that should have frightened the living daylights out of her.

But strangely, Gillian's fear melted at the sight of him. Matthew looked as shy as he had sounded, ducking his head bashfully as she looked upon him. Every so often he glanced up to sneak a peek at her face, then averted his eyes again shyly.

She curtsied as best she could with her multitude of skirts. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Prince Matthew."

He drew back slightly, shock once again emanating across their mental link. _Ah… It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Gillian._ Hesitantly, his amber eyes met hers. _If I may say so… You are very pretty._ He flinched, as if afraid she would hit him or run.

Neither of his fears had even crossed her mind. She was enthralled. No man had ever called her pretty. She didn't usually talk much to men—her interactions with them were purely physical for the most part—but of all the men she'd been with, not a single one had complimented her like that. Beyond the joy at receiving a compliment came the warmth from his obvious earnestness. He meant what he said, and that warmed her to her toes. "Thank you very much. But I am sure you only say that because you have not seen many women." They probably all ran, terrified by his mind-voice, before he had a chance to come out.

_That is not true,_ he protested. _I have seen serving women, and ladies from the court when they walk by. I have a window that overlooks the park, you see. But none of them are as pretty as you. I think your hair is lovely. _Abruptly his toothy jaws shut as if to hold back words, even though he spoke with his mind. If he was human and had skin instead of scales, she knew he would have turned furiously red.

Gillian was flying. Her hair, her demon hair, was lovely? If she had not been the type of girl to avoid crying like the plague, she would have been bawling grateful tears. "Thank you so much, Matthew." She took a deep breath. Now to instigate the plan. She took up the mantra from the soothsayer in her head. "But you know, human women look even prettier without clothes on."

_Really? _Matthew asked, perfectly innocent. He had no clue that it was improper for a human woman—or man for that matter—to parade around bare. _I cannot imagine that you could be any prettier, but… Can I see?_

He was so…_cute_! So innocent, so naively eager for any woman, maybe anyone, to pay him attention. She could relate. Her heart went out to him, her kindred spirit, in pity. His lot had been even worse than hers, and yet he was so pure of heart. She could hardly believe that a dragon could be kinder to her than the people of the village where she had been born, even kinder than the father that had raised her.

"Yes, if that is what you would like. But I have an idea. Let us make a game of it! For every dress I remove, you shed a skin. Does that not sound fun?" She made herself smile earnestly. In a way, he was like a child—he did not understand things that humans did. She could use that to her advantage.

_I suppose. I have never tried to shed so many all at once._ Matthew hesitated._ But… I agree. Who shall start?_

"We can do it together," she said. "I will take off my dress, and you shed a skin at the same time."

_Alright._ Matthew padded over to an iron-bound chest pushed up against the wall, shyly drawing the rest of his body out into the open, and rubbed his shoulder harshly against it. A section of his skin peeled away, and it was a simple thing for him to then climb out of the skin and leave the husk there beside the chest. Suddenly there were two identical lindorms, one pale with empty eye sockets, leering lips, and hollow insides, and one that suddenly looked slightly smaller.

"Very good! Now wasn't that fun?" Gillian untied the coarse strings of a heavy woolen cloak around her throat, and dropped it to the floor. Then she started on the tie of the next cloak, a lighter but equally rough cotton one.

_I suppose._ Matthew put his shoulder to the chest again and scraped his hard skin across it. Soon another duplicate lindorm was at his side, and Gillian had dropped her second and final cloak. Now she had dresses to remove, and under that, shifts. She only hoped they would be enough.

Matthew's round amber eyes lingered on the skin at her throat and chest exposed by removing the cloaks. _You look prettier already,_ he breathed. Gillian smiled widely and bent to draw her first dress over her head.

Their game went on. Soon Matthew had to crush his skins into the next sitting room, to make room for him to remove more. Otherwise, Gillian soon would have been drowning in his empty, pale clones. He grew progressively smaller and smaller as his skins were stripped away, and so did Gillian as the pool of garments at her feet grew. Every time she removed one, Matthew would glance up at her, as if hopeful for a little more skin to be revealed. He truly was more human than anyone realized, both in his need for affection and his…appetites. He probably hadn't even known that his desire for a woman could differ from his desires for recognition and companionship from other men. But he knew now.

Gillian was sweating with nervousness by the time she got down to her last shift. She didn't think she'd ever been so afraid in her life—which was rather strange, considering that she'd never felt even the slightest nervousness in stripping down before a man. Before a dragon, though… Her knees wanted to knock together, but she stubbornly held them steady. No matter how afraid she was that the soothsayer had deceived her, she would not show fear.

Matthew was watching her eagerly. By now he had shrunk down to almost man-size, and his skin was peeling away as if it just could not hang on to his body any longer. Wherever a scale fell, a green puff of smoke rose. Soon the whole room was full of it.

Steeling herself, again chanting the mantra the soothsayer had given her, she jerked her last undergarment over her head and stood naked before the lindorm.

"You were not exaggerating…" breathed a voice. "You are so beautiful…"

Giddy nervousness filled her. The voice had not been within her mind. "Matthew?" she asked. She felt around until she touched something warm and alive.

"Gillian?" Through the green smoke, she could see a pair of deep, wide, crystal-blue eyes. Undoubtedly human eyes, and it was an undoubtedly human body she was touching. "What… What happened?"

The smoke was clearing enough to reveal a tall, lean man. He shared some obvious features with Alfred, namely identical blue eyes and the same shade of hair—though Alfred's was shorter and straighter—but he was slightly taller and leaner, with less obvious musculature. But he was still gloriously handsome, and gloriously human. Just as the soothsayer had promised.

"I broke the spell, Matthew." Gillian got up on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss across lips that parted in shock under hers. She laughed at his childlike innocence. What a beautiful monster. Her beautiful, wonderful, innocent, handsome, misunderstood little Matthew. "You are human now."

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><p><strong>AN: =3 How beautiful. *sniffle* Reviews would make me happy. Very.<strong>


	9. Human

**AN: Wow, thanks for all the reviews last chapter! Please keep it up! ^^**

**This chapter's short, but it happens to be my favorite. Matthew is so CUTE and CLUELESS about being human! :3**

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><p>Human?<p>

The brush of Gillian's lips across his made Matthew take a step back. It had not just been her lips that had touched him, but her body too. She had not said anything was wrong with humans being naked around each other, and he had not seen any reason to question it—animals did it, so why not humans?—but something was decidedly strange about this. Even through all the shock that he had shed his lindorm form to be the human he had always been meant to be, he felt that. The sight of her, completely bare and unashamed of it, made a strange heat rush to his face, and made his newly human body react in strange ways.

He coughed. "Is this… Are you sure this is okay?"

"Of course." With a laugh, Gillian took a step towards him, her half-lidded crimson eyes making him quiver with some strange feeling he couldn't define. It stirred deep in his gut and made him feel warm and prickly all over, and his thoughts were muddled and unclear. The only thing that was sharp and distinct was the hot, surging emotion he couldn't name. He'd never felt this way before, as a lindorm.

"I do not understand…" he whimpered, retreating a step. He wondered if she was threatening him, but then he realized that whatever she was doing, he _wanted_ her to do it. And that was the strangest thing of all.

"Let me give you a crash course in humanity," she chuckled, reaching out to touch him.

Hot sparks shot through his bloodstream when her fingers met the skin of his stomach. Skin was much more sensitive than scales—he could feel every brush of her fingers as her hand traveled across him, and it was doing something very odd to him. The heat in his bloodstream coalesced into a wave, about to crash down and scatter any sense he still retained. "I do not… This is… Alfred!" he cried, backing away from Gillian into the relative safety of his bedroom. "Help me! Alfred!"

Gillian giggled throatily, sending another shot of heat through him, and kept coming forward.

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><p><strong>AN: Sexay ;P Gillian's so... Prussia! See, this is why fem!Prussia works.<strong>


	10. Help

**AN: *crawls back to activity in shame* I'm sorry, school has been KILLING ME. TO DEATH.**

**So, here you go! Finally! :P You might need to go back and reread the last chapter for maximum effect. Or the last two chapters. Whatever twirls your beanie.**

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><p>Alfred was not sure what he expected to see when he walked into Matthew's bedroom, summoned by a strange voice he'd never heard before, but it was certainly not what he saw.<p>

Gillian was clothed only in her long, stark-white hair. The rumors had not lied—her body was a sight to be seen; Alfred had not noticed before now because of all the dresses she had been wearing when she reported for her summons. She was on the bed, on her hands and knees, chasing around a tall, lean, equally naked young man with overlong, wavy blond hair. The man looked terrified, and at the same time like he was about to give up any second and gratefully let Gillian have her way with him.

When the man saw Alfred, he gave a grateful yelp. "Finally!" He ran over and hid behind Alfred, completely careless of his nakedness. "Help me! I do not understand what she is doing to me, but she is making me feel very strange!"

Abruptly, Alfred realized that the man's face was almost identical to the one he saw in the mirror each morning—the only differences were that the man's face was a little slimmer, with eyes a little bigger and nose a little sharper. Unable to believe his eyes, he gasped, "Matthew?"

"Help," Matthew sniffled feebly.

Gillian was just as unashamed of her bare body as Matthew. Tossing her hair, she advanced on the twins with a wide grin. "Come along now, Matthew, you said you wanted to see me. Let me show you."

"No! This is strange," he wailed, cowering behind Alfred's shoulders.

Gillian walked around Alfred, completely ignoring his goggling—at both the shamelessly bare woman and his suddenly human twin brother—and reaching for Matthew. With a squeak, Matthew ducked under Alfred's arm and away from her. Alfred found himself at the center of a game of chase.

Suddenly, Alfred was laughing, laughing so hard he was almost crying. Not only was the way open for him to find a wife, his brother now had a future. And none the less, a future that could be happy, something they had never dared hope for!

Alfred watched Gillian chase his beloved, blushing brother around the room, and held his sides to keep them from splitting with laughter. What a perfect bride for a lindorm king.

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><p><strong>AN: How I love my PruCan~~~~~~~ Reviews, da? Even though I'm a fail at updating on time, PLEASE REVIEW FOR ME DX<strong>


	11. Wedding

**AN: So apparently I uploaded wrong... Disregard the chapter that was here if you've already read this. I have no idea what happened but I was probably being stupid since I uploaded right before I left for my sister's soccer game. My apologies!**

** So anyway! This is looking to be the last chapter. Thank you guys for all your reads and reviews! Be sure and tell me how you liked the end :D**

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><p>The marriage took place not a week later. Matthew and Gillian said they would love each other through sickness and health, and the whole kingdom cheered, and there was a grand party, just as is expected of any royal wedding—no matter that a few scant days ago, the whole kingdom had been living in fear of the very man they wished every happiness to now. Even the queen had ceased to think of Matthew as an abomination the moment she laid eyes on his now-human face.<p>

Gillian had learned to keep her hands to herself over the last few days—after the queen had made it perfectly clear that it was disgraceful for a princess to act in such a manner in public—in private was another matter altogether, apparently—so she had not made Matthew feel odd since the night he became human. Alfred had promised to explain that after the wedding, and Matthew was looking forward to understanding. Human emotions were harder to control and comprehend than those of a lindorm. A cold-blooded creature could not feel as keenly as a person, even if he had a person buried inside him underneath a few layers of scales. Gillian made him _feel_ more than anybody else, and that—among everything else about her—was why he loved her. She had made him human, in more ways than one.

She was snuggled under his arm now, as they watched the after-wedding ball from a dais set with four thrones. Alfred and their mother occupied the other two, watching the festivities with satisfaction. After a moment, Alfred stood and announced that, now that he was able to find a wife, he was going to ask someone to dance. Soon he was twirling around a raven-haired beauty with deep brown eyes, laughing away as she blushed.

An unexpected visitor turned up not long after—the soothsayer. He bowed on one knee with a fist to the floor. His blond hair was now shot with gray, but his green eyes were as fiery as ever. "My congratulations, Majesties."

Gillian rose from under Matthew's arm and threw herself down the steps of the dais and into the soothsayer's arms. "Thank you," she said fervently. "We owe all of this to you. A thousand times, thank you."

Matthew rose and offered his thanks as well. "It really is you to whom we owe our happiness. You have my thanks."

Kirkland smiled. "You flatter me, Majesties."

Francine rose as well, but she was a thunderhead. "You lied to me," she snapped. "You told me if I ate two onions, I would give birth to twin boys! Not a boy and a monster!"

Gillian had murder in her eyes when she stood, but Matthew forestalled her with a hand to her forearm. He hoped to convey with his eyes his thoughts—not having his telepathy anymore was inconvenient at times. His mother would never truly understand what he had gone through; even if she loved the man he was now, she would never accept the monster he had been.

His new wife calmed at his touch, and wound her fingers through his. "I love you," she whispered.

"I love you too." He blushed slightly, and she laughed.

Meanwhile, Kirkland lifted his gaze insolently to the queen's, making her color at his effrontery. "You would have, Your Highness—" he managed to make her title seem an insult "—had you simply _peeled both of the onions_."

For once, the queen was speechless. The soothsayer murmured his congratulations to the new royal couple once more, and vanished into the crowd.

Matthew mounted the dais again, tugging Gillian along behind. "Do not let him make you feel bad, Mother," he said soothingly. "If I had never been a lindorm, I never would have met Gillian." He smiled down at his beautiful wife. She had been right, though—she really _was_ prettier naked. Maybe she would take off her dress for him again later.

To his shock, tears gathered at the edge of Gillian's brilliant ruby-red eyes. Matthew did not have much experience with crying, but Alfred had told him that it was something humans did when they were sad. "What did I say?" he yelped in horror, swiping at her tears with his thumb. "Please, do not cry!"

Unexpectedly, she kissed him, silencing his babbling consolation. He could see heaven when their lips met, a happiness he had never dreamed of. One well worth living through twenty years as a lindorm for.

"Yes," she said when she pulled back. "And that was worth it all."

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><p><strong>AN: And they lived happily ever after~<strong>

**This fic was the first in a series. I'm going to be writing fanfics based on fairy tales! The next is going to be a GerIta version of The Little Mermaid, so keep an eye out for that! Thanks so much for all the love, everyone, and all of you get virtual pasta for sticking with me to the end! *Italy hands out pasta to everyone, Ve~ing as he does***

**Italy: Ve~! Be sure and read about me and Germany next, okay?**

**Me: But you'll be a girl.**

**Italy: *poofs into fem! form* Say wha? Why do I have to be a girl?**

**Me: Ariel's a girl! Duh!**

**Italy: Oh…**

**Me: But look on the bright side, now I can write you all romantically with Germany since I don't write yaoi!**

**Italy: Yay~!**


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